The Metropolitan Opera Murders by Helen Traubel

Author:Helen Traubel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2022-01-08T00:00:00+00:00

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57 An Italian/Jewish middle-class neighborhood in Brooklyn—a long way from the glamor of a Manhattan territory.

Chapter Twelve

Acting Chief Inspector Nicholas Patrick, Homicide West, was pacing his scarred office like a bear whose cage has been skipped at feeding time. In a savage mood, with his shoulders bunched and his eyes baleful, he was ready to snap at anything within reach. The office crackled with tension. He was an angry bull full of editorial banderillos, looking for someone to gore. Every member of the Squad had tasted the blistering lash of his tongue.

Lieutenant Sam Quentin was no exception. He sat on the edge of a chair and waited for the onslaught to be resumed. The best way to control the fire, Quentin knew, was to hold his peace and let it burn down.

Inspector Patrick glowered and leveled his finger. “What are we?” he demanded with biting scorn. “A bunch of correspondence school dicks? New York’s finest or New York’s misfits? A man gets chilled off in the Metropolitan Opera House during a performance and what do we do about it? Nothing. Some homicidal nut tries to execute a famous prima donna by gas right in her own apartment and who do we haul in? Nobody.” He made an ugly sound. “The newspapers are having a holiday. The District Attorney is breathing down my neck. The Commissioner is howling in my ear. The Mayor is sitting on my back. Everybody wants results.”

His face changed. It became long and supplicating. His fingers came together in a gesture of prayer and his voice went down to a muted rumble.

“All I want, Lieutenant, is a clue. One tiny, little clue. Is that too much to ask?” He turned the volume up to a blast. “Is it?”

“No, sir.”

“You consider yourself a cop?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then act like a cop. Go out and pinch somebody. Clap the bastard behind bars and knock a confession out of him.”

Quentin looked at him mildly. “It’s only three days old, Inspector. We’re still working on it. All we have so far is a couple of theories.”

“The Commissioner isn’t interested in theories. He wants a suspect. Get him one.”

“A lot of important citizens are involved,” Quentin told him quietly. “You can’t round them up like a bunch of Bowery bums58 and haul them down to Headquarters in a paddy wagon.” He paused significantly. “But I’m willing to try it if you give me the green light.”

The Inspector was having none of that. He had not reached his present position through a lack of caution. He passed the buck right back to Quentin.

“Now, Sam,” he said with a placating gesture, “let’s not charge off half-cocked. You’re handling this investigation and I don’t want to interfere. I have confidence in your discretion, boy. I realize this is no ordinary murder case. But a quick, clean solution would be a feather in our cap. It would restore public confidence.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“I know you are, Sam.” He spread his hands. “It might help if we narrowed the field.

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